The Early Morning Toast Brigade
by GhostOfBambi
Summary: In which Lily Evans makes the best of insomnia, with the help of her womanly wiles.


**Author's Note: ****Author's Note: This oneshot was inspired by the sleepless nights I suffered in the time that led up to my relocation from Ireland to England, because I was pretty stressed out and worried that I hadn't made the right decision (I had). It was also inspired by one of the most beautiful and generally incredible girls I've ever known, my nocturnal friend Lenne, to whom this is entirely dedicated.**

**The Early Morning Toast Brigade**

"Four," Lily Evans mumbled, squinting in the darkness. "Piss off."

The watch slipped from her fingers and smacked her in the face, and she snarled, and shook it off. She didn't care to learn where it landed, but turned on her side to settle back down in her squishy four poster. A loud noise – an almighty bang – had woken her abruptly, but she had found her dormitory silent. Evidently, she must have dreamed it, as the girls who surrounded her were undisturbed. She had been sleeping very peacefully and was unreasonably annoyed.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to drift off and tried to remember the dream she had been having, but that one thought led to another, and then another, until she found herself thinking about the time her sister lost her flip flop in the sea at Cleethorpes, an entirely unconnected thing. She caught herself drooling when a small puddle formed in the corner of her mouth, and wiped it away impatiently, embarrassed, as if hidden eyes were watching her do it. Worse still, she was decidedly awake, and restless. She shut her mouth tightly and made another half-hearted attempt to sleep once more, but admitted defeat. She decided to get out of bed.

She suppressed an impulse to make a lot of noise and wake one of the other girls, which would have been a product of her envy and irritation. She attempted to locate her knobbly old socks, which had been kicked off in the night, by scrambling about beneath her duvet and blindly snatching at nothing. She found one – it smelled slightly – and yanked them on, and slipped out of bed. She pulled her dressing gown over her shoulders, and crossed to the door, and padded downstairs, reached the bottom step and saw James Potter sitting in an armchair next to the fire, closely examining a newspaper that was spread across his lap. Naturally, she spun around and fled.

Once safely upstairs, she grabbed some essential supplies and barricaded herself in the bathroom she shared with the other girls in her dormitory. Infused with newfound vigour, she set about transforming herself, from a girl who had just fallen out of bed to a girl who merely appeared to have done so, and had done so looking effortlessly fresh and beautiful, as if she had been kissed awake by the night itself. She applied cosmetics in a cleverly deceptive fashion. She brushed, tossed, and fluffed her hair. She discarded her comfortable flannels in favour of a vest and tiny shorts, in which she would surely freeze, but no matter, comfort must be sacrificed for beauty. She contemplated her bra for a number of minutes, and put it on, and took it off, and decided, ultimately, not to put it back on again. Deeply ashamed of this decision, she reminded herself that going braless was not an odious crime against morality, especially when going braless served towards a higher purpose.

James Potter had fancied Lily Evans once, when he was young and stupid, and had possessed no qualms in sharing that information with her at the time. Two years on, Lily Evans was searching for a sign, a visible, promising sign, that his feelings for her hadn't gone away. Her desire to find such a sign stemmed, not from vanity, but for her own feelings for James Potter, which were frightfully distracting. She was infatuated, some might have said. Cavorting into the common room in her smallest shorts probably wasn't a hallmark of a scrupulous young woman – her Dad wouldn't have approved – but she was leaving school forever in eight months. For all she knew, she might never see James Potter again when it all ended. Time was of the essence, now that their final year was in full swing.

If all was fair in love and war, this was a little of both, and brutal strategies were vital.

She hurried downstairs, once she had satisfied herself that she looked pretty good, fearful that he had gone to bed. Her luck held, for he hadn't stirred. She stepped into the common room on tiptoe and pretended to yawn, as if she regularly got out of bed and stumbled downstairs looking perfect. Potter would never know that she had been drooling on her own face not twenty minutes ago.

"James?" she said, in an award-worthy imitation of mild surprise. "What are you doing up?"

James Potter, keeper of a beautiful head of messy black hair, looked up from his newspaper. His eyes did not pop out of his head. His mouth did not drop open to allow his tongue room to hang out. He did not beat his chest like a gorilla and proclaim his deep love for her. He did, at least, look very pleased to see her.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, and raised his eyebrows, taking her in from top to bottom. "What about you? Sneaking out to meet boys?"

"Hardly," she said, a half-truth at best. "I woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. What are you reading?"

"Yesterday's _Prophet_, just reached the horoscope page. Fancy knowing what your future holds?"

"Suppose so. Nothing better to do." She would have listened to James read a cauldron maintenance guide written in a language he didn't understand if it meant spending time with him. She crossed the room in carefully timed strides, and James held the newspaper in the air, and she sat boldly in his lap. "Budge up."

They had been friends since sixth year, and had gotten close towards the end of it, then closer still, after their recent appointment as co-head students. They connected, she had discovered, on what seemed to be every possible level. This connection had led to a certain level of familiarity between Lily and James, a familiarity which meant that both were perfectly happy to share one armchair. Indeed, they often sat snuggled up together as if it meant nothing, pretending that it was a perfectly regular thing for two platonic friends to do. They hugged every day. She rubbed his shoulders after Quidditch matches. He played with her hair to relax her. She often fell asleep with her head in his lap. The tactile nature of their friendship meant that their names were always coupled together in school gossip, and it pained Lily a great deal whenever she was forced to confirm that the gossip was unfounded. She felt something like sexual tension when they were together, but it could easily have been a product of her imagination.

"Watch where you're putting that arse," he said, lowering his newspaper while she made herself comfortable.

"Why?"

"So you don't squash my bits."

"Are you saying that I have a fat arse?"

"I could ask you the time and you'd think I was insulting your arse."

His arm looped around her and his hand settled on her hip. His fingers touched a patch of exposed skin, and he dropped his head on her shoulder. She caught a whiff of his hair; it didn't smell like fresh summer strawberries, or a gentle seaside breeze, or the very essence of the concept of happiness, but simply smelled like James, which meant that it smelled like nothing else on earth. Her heart thumped as it always did, and she pretended it wasn't affected.

"Is that toast?" she said, catching sight of a plate of the stuff that sat on the floor, next to James's invisibility cloak, the wonders of which she had been introduced to the summer previous.

"Nah," he replied. "It's regular bread, with a suntan."

"What?"

"A suntan," James repeated. "It's highly unlikely that you've ever experienced one first hand, being ginger and all, so I won't blame you if you don't know what it is."

"Shut up. Where'd you get it?"

"Oh, my skin is naturally sallow."

"I'm talking about the toast, idiot."

"Won it off Dumbledore in a duel."

"_James_!"

"I got it from the kitchens, of course," he said, snickering. "Merlin, you're so easy to wind up."

"What were you doing sneaking around in the kitchens at this late hour?" she said, with all the pretentions of disapproval. He lifted his chin and gazed up at her, and made a passable attempt at wide, innocent eyes. Being James Potter, he ruined the general picture with a shit-eating grin.

"I went to the toilet and got lost on the way back."

"Oh, really?"

"Really."

"Was this the Prefects' loo that you went to?"

"That's the one."

"So, the one on the fifth floor? The one situated several floors _above_ the kitchens?"

He blinked at her. "I got really lost."

"I could give you detention for this."

"What if I offer to share my toast with you?"

"Fair enough. Give it to me," she demanded, and stretched out an eager hand. James laughed and flicked his wand, and a dainty triangle of toast floated serenely into her grasp. She took a huge bite and moaned with pleasure.

"Mmmph," she said, once she'd swallowed a mouthful. "It's still warm."

"Enjoying that a bit too much, are we?"

"Mmmph," she repeated, working on her second bite. "Ishdemissish."

"You're disgusting," he said genially. "Will I crack on with the horoscopes?"

"Mmurgh."

"I'll take that as a yes. So, Evans," he said grandly, tapping the newspaper so that it crackled loudly. "What do you think the future holds for you this week?"

She swallowed her toast, checked her teeth with her tongue and shrugged. "Dunno. Potions essay? Another exam lecture from McGonagall? Peeves and Myrtle eloping? Read yours first."

"Alright." He dropped his head back on her shoulder. She shuddered involuntarily. "Cold?"

"Little bit."

"It serves you right, running around the common room half-naked," he scolded, but rubbed her arm vigorously anyway. "Who are you trying to seduce in those shorts?"

"Nobody!" she scoffed, blushing. "Read your horoscope or I'll rub my toast in your face."

"But you've finished your slice."

"I'll get another."

"You don't have your wand on you to summon it."

"I'll get up and fetch it."

"No you won't, you're too comfortable."

She rolled her eyes. "Your horoscope please, Potter. I'm deeply invested in your future."

"No, you're just nosy."

"School's been boring lately," she said. "I get my entertainment wherever I can."

"Alright, your majesty. Where is Aries, the noble ram?"

"Noble. Hah!" Lily had found and read his horoscope silently. It comprised of the usual nonsense, some generalised guff about resolving conflict in the workplace and relying on instinct in financial matters, but James could be trusted to make up something silly and elaborate. "You're a sheep. A sheep man. Boy. Baaaah."

"Who cares? You're a jug of water."

"I'm the person who _carries_ the jug."

"Crap career path, if you ask me," he replied, scanning the newspaper. "Alright, here's mine. It says that my eyes are bluer than the ocean."

"Your eyes are hazel."

"_Someone's_ obsessed with my eyes."

"You're not funny."

"My horoscope says I am, see?" He covered his horoscope with his hand. "Right next to the part where it says that I am the greatest wizard ever born to this earth."

"Between the 26th and 28th of March that year, probably."

"And that I attract the envy of ginger people."

"Hah!"

"And that someone I know secretly fancies me," he finished, and her face got hot, very hot indeed. "A regular occurrence. Who could that be, d'you think?"

"Sirius?"

"Nah, he doesn't keep it secret. Try again."

"Well, that ruins my second guess," Lily responded, jittery. "Your passionate love for yourself isn't any secret either."

"No more toast for you," James replied. "Braless."

"Are you looking at my boobs?"

"Yeah," he admitted, without a hint of shame. "They're handily right in my face."

"Pervert," she said, secretly thrilled, even though the unspoken womanly law would have her punch his crotch and leave him twitching on the common room floor. "You men are all the same."

"Animals, the lot of us," he agreed. "Want to hear yours now?"

"Can I have more toast first?"

"After this, there's a good girl," he said firmly, and he didn't pat her bottom, but she imagined that the moment would have been better if he had. "Right. Aquarius. The juxtaposition of Venus and Mars means that I'm going to smack you in the face with my Potions essay tomorrow."

"Excuse me?"

"But the opposing position of Saturn means that I haven't done my Potions essay yet, so you might be safe."

"You _haven't_ done it yet?"

"Moving on," he said quickly. "Some interesting career opportunities may arise for the Aquarius man or woman within the next few days."

"Fantastic," she sighed. "Another Slug Club meeting."

"Ah, I see. This part about avoiding the romantic advances of an obese Potions master as he steers you around his office in between introducing you to various Ministry bootlickers suddenly makes a lot more sense."

Lily started to laugh. "You're an idiot, you know."

"I know, but you like it."

"I suppose it's very amusing."

"I'm bored with horoscopes now," said James, and tossed the newspaper across the room. It hit the armchair opposite and Mary MacDonald's cat, Monty, scurried out from behind it with an irate squeal. "Can I kiss you instead?"

Lily did, of course, stop laughing immediately. "_What_?"

* * *

Two hours later, as they lay on a much roomier sofa with wandering hands and enthusiastic lips, Lily and James were interrupted from their adventure by Sirius Black, who leapt into the common room in one swift bound and let out a barking laugh. Trapped beneath James on that particular sofa, Lily could only shake her hair out of her eyes and glare at Sirius, who pointed dramatically in their direction and cried out with triumph – the kind of triumph that only came with catching your best friend in an embarrassing situation, and knowing that you would be able to tease him mercilessly about it for the remaining duration of his life.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" he shouted.


End file.
